


there's a light when my baby's in my arms

by NoRationalThoughtRequired



Series: Sugar & Spice Bingo Fics [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dreams, Implied Sexual Content, Jaskier POV, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning After, Morning Kisses, So much tenderness, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoRationalThoughtRequired/pseuds/NoRationalThoughtRequired
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier have woken up together thousands of times over the years. This time, it’s the morning after the night before, and they wake in each other’s arms.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Sugar & Spice Bingo Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198586
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	there's a light when my baby's in my arms

**Author's Note:**

> It's another Sugar & Spice Bingo fic! Prompt: Waking Up Together. Title is from Pearl Jam's "Thin Air"

Jaskier wanders in the world of dreams, lost in a series of nonsensical events that are logical in the way that only dreams can be, caught up in goings-on that, were he able to remember them when in the waking world, would be utterly incomprehensible. Geralt is there, he thinks. He _knows_. He senses a presence next to him, imposing, resolute, and he feels safe, secure. His dream self smiles.

(Out in reality, as dawn breaks and its soft light starts to creep into the room around the edges of the curtains, illuminating them, tangled together as they are, wrapped up in each other, the covers and blankets askew, covering and blanketing nothing, leaving them bare, Jaskier smiles there, too.

It does not go unnoticed. Geralt reaches up, traces the curve of Jaskier’s lower lip with his finger, leans over, presses a kiss--)

Dream Geralt smiles, too. He traces the curve of Jaskier’s smile, he leans over, he presses a kiss to Jaskier’s lips, he pulls Jaskier tight to him and they lose themselves in each other, their universes shrinking to naught but the man in their arms. Geralt cards his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, and _oh_ , it’s bliss when he does that, absolute bliss, the sensation, the feeling, it’s almost too much, and Jaskier can feel the dreamscape start to shift, the colors desaturate, the sounds of their breaths and sighs turn muffled, it’s fading now, all fading--

(Jaskier’s sleep-mussed hair is a siren song to Geralt’s fingers, and he’s helpless to resist the call. He brushes his fingers through, marveling at the softness of the strands, at the spicy cinnamon scent that lingers, always, no matter what. Geralt wants to remain here--at this place, in this moment--forever, just like this, Jaskier in his arms.

His fingers don’t stop, can’t stop, won’t stop, _oh_.

Jaskier’s nose twitches, there’s a hitch, his breathing starts to change, no no no, Geralt can’t have that just yet, he’s not ready to lose this, this is only the first time, he hasn’t yet fully memorized what it’s like to wake and have Jaskier asleep in his arms, like he’s meant to be there, like there’s nowhere else for them both to be, he needs time, more time.

His fingers don’t can’t _won’t_ stop, but they soften, gentle, turn into barely there caresses, just a hint of movement.

“Sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt whispers, his voice entreating, pleading. “It’s not time to wake yet. Sleep. _Sleep_ \--”)

The world rights itself, settles.

“I’ve got you,” Dream Geralt murmurs, smiling bright and broad. “I’ve got you.”

He leans back in. Dream Jaskier smiles into the kiss and loses himself once more.

*

Jaskier wakes, fully and reluctantly. He doesn’t want to leave his dreams, not when Geralt, in that world, holds him in his strong arms and touches him so tenderly and looks at him with an expression that is nothing short of utmost devotion. He doesn’t want to leave that world, he doesn’t want to wake to a world in which he’s curled up in bed, cold and alone. He doesn’t want to re-enter reality, not when he’s had this glimpse of something so much _more_.

But he must. However much he wants to, he cannot linger forever here, in this land halfway between dreams and waking, a land where the possibilities of dreams are still that: possibilities, potential, hopes not yet dashed by the hard truth of the actual world.

He doesn’t want to leave. He must.

He sighs and he stretches and _oh_ \--

The bed is not cold and he is not alone in it.

Jaskier’s eyes blink open, and there he is and there Geralt is, the two of them entwined, lovely in their languor. There he is, held tight in Geralt’s strong arms. There Geralt is, the tips of his fingers trailing down Jaskier’s bare back, the touch softer than the finest silks found in Beauclair.

He takes a breath and dares to look up.

_Oh_.

Jaskier, as a bard and a poet of Continent-wide renown, has made a quite thorough study of the range of emotions. It is, in fact, imperative to his success. His songs and his verses might not be one hundred percent _factual_ , in the sense that he describes everything as it actually happened, he’s perfectly willing to admit that. But the emotional resonance of his works? Audiences can tell when you’re trying to play their emotions false. He might leave out a detail _here_ , embellish another _there_ , but he pours himself into everything he writes, and as a result, the emotional truth of it all is indisputable.

Emotions, feelings, these are things he _knows_.

He looks at Geralt, and what he sees there, in the curve of Geralt’s smile, in the gentle sparkle in Geralt’s eyes, takes his breath away.

Utmost devotion? Yes, that’s there. Undeniable affection? Present as well. Admiration edging into adoration? There and accounted for.

_Love?_

Yes, yes, he rather thinks so.

Last night, finally learning that his physical desire for Geralt is not only reciprocated but ready to be acted upon, that’s one thing. Taking each other apart and reaching new heights of ecstasy together and putting each other back together again, remade with the knowledge that they have found a way to fit all their sharp edges into a coherent and cohesive whole, that’s another thing. But _this_ , this mutual, fully shared, all-encompassing _love_? It’s all . . . well, it’s all a bit overwhelming, really.

Geralt’s expression is so very open right now, unguarded, willing to catch anything Jaskier throws at him, and he should say something acknowledging this profound shift that has occurred in their lives. He is a _poet_ , a poet of prodigious skill. He has lost count of the number of love poems he has composed in his lifetime, he has the words to be so very eloquent. But the tenderness is still there in Geralt’s gaze, it hasn’t vanished upon Jaskier waking and turning his eyes upon it, Geralt is allowing him to be witness to this, and it’s so much, _too much_ , and all he can say is--

“Were you watching me sleep?”

A twitch at the corner of Geralt’s lips, a finger raised to trace Jaskier’s cheek. “I was indeed.”

No hesitation in his answer. No shame at being so caught out. He _wants_ Jaskier to know this, see this. The thought sets him alight from within; a warmth spreads through him, all the way down to his toes.

He presses the length of his body against Geralt’s, revelling in all the places that they touch, so very many places. He takes a breath and dares to be bold. “Any regrets?”

“Not a one,” Geralt murmurs against his lips, and they lose themselves in the other yet again, and they delight in it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!


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